Enigma
by jadestears
Summary: When Cary Retlin moved to Stoneybrook, everyone wondered what his story was. This is it.


**Title:** Enigma  
**by Jade**  
**Rated:** PG-13  
**Summary:** When Cary Retlin moved to Stoneybrook, everyone wondered what his story was. This is it.  
**Chapter 1?**

**The boring, obligatory Author's Notes and Disclaimers:** First of all, anyone who knows me knows that Cary Retlin is my favorite BSC character. I played him in the BSC RPG **bschigh**, over on in case anyone followed that. With that said, this interpretation of him in this story is based partially on his canon personality from the series, and also partially on the personality given to him by me for RPG purposes. The BSC characters belong to Ann M. Martin; I claim no ownership unless otherwise stated (i.e., if an original character is introduced.) That also said, please don't steal my story, mmkay?

* * *

**Chapter One**

They'd been in Stoneybrook for about a week, and Cary Retlin still wasn't used to it. His mother's opinion was that it was merely an adjustment they'd have to make, and that Cary and his brothers would like it a lot more once they got settled in. She, of course, had fallen in love with Stoneybrook right from the beginning--the small town charm wasn't lost on Lauren Retlin. But something about the picturesque setting gave Cary the creeps. There were too many manicured lawns, too many picket fences … it was a far cry from Oak Hill, Illinois. Oak Hill was nice, but it was closer to Chicago, a fact which by itself made Oak Hill seem a bit less sterile than Stoneybrook appeared to be. Besides which--it was home. Cary would have given anything to go back there, but it wasn't like he'd ever say so.

On Sunday evening, he laid on his bed, listening to his favorite Doors CD and scribbling in his notebook. All the while, he was trying not to worry about school the next day. Starting school in the middle of the year just begged for attention, and not necessarily the kind of attention that Cary wanted. He was more prone to blending into the background--at his old school, he'd made friends selectively, and had spent a good portion of his time trying to get everyone else to forget that he was there. That way, it made it easier for him to get away with whatever he wanted. His brothers had gone to bed awhile ago, their mother going into each of their rooms with them, tucking them in, reassuring them about school. Stieg had readily accepted her coddling, but Ben was tougher--these days, he walked around with his shoulder lifted permanently in an "I'm cool, I'm eleven" shrug. Cary personally liked to point out that the whole effect was ruined by the knowledge Cary had of Ben's tendency to sleep with rocket ship bed sheets, but whenever he spoke up, Ben was prone to hitting him. Their mother wasn't a big fan of the wrestling matches that usually followed.

Figuring he had awhile before his mother eventually made her way into his bedroom, Cary lowered the headphones from his ears and reached over towards his night table, picking up the phone extension he had there. His parents had agreed to letting him have his own line, on the basis that they expected him to be well-behaved at his new school. _In other words, bribery,_ Cary thought in amusement as he dialed the familiar number of Mark, his closest friend back in Oak Hill. Not a bad fringe benefit. Mark answered after only a couple of rings.

"Hello," he said, sounding slightly muffled, as if he were chewing on something.

"Hey," Cary answered.

Mark swallowed. "Oh, God. I thought I'd heard the last of you," he greeted in return.

"Apparently not," Cary returned, leaning back against the headboard as he glanced around the bedroom. There were still boxes everywhere--his mother had been bugging him to unpack and "get organized" but Cary was reluctant. Unpacking the boxes meant that they were really moving here, and that this was home now … he couldn't get used to the idea.

"How's life out there in Hickville?" Mark asked cheerfully.

Cary rolled his eyes. "The less said, the better."

"What, like you _didn't_ call me long distance to grouch," Mark pointed out knowingly.

Cary had to grin. "Well, yeah."

"Dude, like I wouldn't trade places with you in a minute," Mark went on. "Just think of all the fresh meat. And I know you. I bet you probably have a million tricks up your sleeve that you're just waiting to unleash."

Cary shifted his position. Rather than answer directly, he just shrugged. "Still the same old losers at our school, huh," he said.

"You haven't been gone for _that_ long," Mark reminded him. "But … pretty much."

Something like a mischievous grin crossed Cary's face. "You know … you have a point."

Mark was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was amused. "I have a feeling that those hicks are in for a rude awakening."

Playing evasive, Cary just changed the subject, and they talked about baseball for awhile, a decidedly less stressful subject. But when Cary hung up, he felt even more lonely than he had before, not less. He couldn't help feeling a surge of resentment towards his parents---he wanted to be back in Illinois, not getting ready to start a completely unfamiliar school. A school where, for the first time in his life, he wasn't going to be surrounded by people who had known him since his idea of a great time had been playing with Play-Doh. Not that he had been the kind of child who would stick it up his nose. Mark had, Cary remembered. Mark's nostrils had been blue for a few days after that, but Cary was more interested in sticking it in the most unexpected places: inside the pencil sharpener in the classroom, or along the interior lining of Amanda Jenkins' Hello Kitty purse.

Cary frowned, glancing down at his notebook, and then closed it, tossing it towards his desk across the room. Unfortunately, he missed, and it was at that moment that his mother knocked lightly on the door before opening it. She glanced from him to the notebook, laying on the floor, and then raised her eyebrow. "I guess that answers the question I had, about if you're all right," she greeted him as she walked into the room.

Cary sat up a bit, having the grace to give her a sheepish smile. "I was aiming for the desk," he explained.

His mother gave him an amused look as she crossed over and sat down on the edge of the bed, automatically reaching out to smooth the creases in his bedspread. "Well, I understand why you didn't want to play baseball anymore," she said lightly.

Cary rolled his eyes, not replying.

"So." His mother cleared her throat, leaning back on one hand slightly as she crossed one leg over the other. "Are you nervous about school tomorrow?"

"Nope," he lied.

She tilted her head slightly. "Not even a little bit?" she prodded gently.

"No."

His mother nodded, letting a few moments of quiet pass before she gave him one of her more sympathetic smiles. "I would be," she confessed.

Cary gave her _his_ version of an indifferent, "I'm thirteen, I'm cool" shrug. In his opinion, he could pull it off much better than Ben could. "Well, I'm not," he said. "But even if I were, it's not important."

His mother tilted her head. "Isn't it?" she asked. "Even just a little."

_Maybe._ Cary shrugged again.

His mother grinned. "I remember, when I was thirteen, my first day of boarding school …"

"You went to boarding school?" Cary interrupted, raising his eyebrow.

His mother nodded. "In Switzerland. You know those stories about having to walk ten miles in the snow?" She lowered her voice a bit. "'Back in my day …'"

Cary laughed.

His mother grinned again, shifting her position slightly. "So, tell me how you really feel," she prodded.

Cary sighed. His mother had a way of getting whatever information she wanted out of him. "I'm a little nervous," he admitted, humoring her. He knew she really just wanted a chance to reassure him--often, she complained good-naturedly about how grown up he was getting.

She smiled at him, reaching out to brush his dark blonde hair back away from his eyes. "It's natural to be a little nervous," she said, going right into the role. "But you're going to be fine, sweetie. Just … be friendly. Smile, say hello to people. That sort of thing."

"Everyone's already got their own friends or whatever," Cary pointed out, dropping his gaze.

His mother shook her head. "Just be yourself, honey," she replied. "You'll be fine."

Cary just shrugged again, deciding that he'd had enough of being reassured. His mother's intentions were all fine and good, but this whole conversation was just making him more uneasy, and he didn't like it. It was better to just not think about it … that way, when he actually got to school, he could, at the very least, feign indifference to it all.

His mother was also quiet for a few moments, and then broke the lightly building tension by giving him another grin. "You're growing up so fast," she told him, with another maternal brush through his hair, one that Cary moved away from with the obligatory, irritated groan.

He looked like his mother, if he thought enough about it to notice. Actually, all of the Retlins looked alike, in some way or another. Joshua Retlin was tall and broad-shouldered, with deep brown eyes that tended to spark with humor and good-nature, giving his face a younger appearance, contrasting with dark blond curls that weren't immune to the occasional flecks of gray. He also contrasted with his wife; Lauren Retlin was an ageless bundle of straight dark hair and bright blue eyes, eyes that sparkled with the same sense of humor that Cary himself possessed, giving her a mischievous quality that Cary had yet to see in any other adult he'd met. He kind of looked up to his mother, but of course he'd never admit that, either.

The three Retlin boys were a mix of both parents. Cary, the oldest, physically resembled his father; he had the same tall, athletically-inclined build, the same dark blond curls—or at least, what resembled curls anytime his hair started to get shaggy. He tended to keep it short, his own current preference, and the curls were less obvious. Despite his likeness to his father, he also possessed his mother's physical grace, making his every motion natural, never awkward. He had her eyes as well, though he was better at hiding the mischievous glints there. For the most part.

Benson--who was eleven and liked to be called simply Ben—and Stieg, who was eight, were also blond, like their father, but their hair was much lighter than Cary's, and as straight as their mother's. Ben shared his mother's grace and blue eyes with Cary, while Stieg was a little more awkward, a little less practiced, and brown-eyed like their father. It was funny, Cary reflected. Even if the likeness between them was subtle, it was still always there. Whenever the entire family was in a room together, it was obvious that they were all related.

He'd gotten lost in thought, and he didn't realize it until his mother nudged his shoulder, giving him a reassuring grin. "I bet there'll be an awful lot of crushes at that school," she teased.

Cary couldn't help grinning back. "Yeah, and I'll have all of them," he returned.

His mother laughed, leaning over to kiss his forehead in her usual maternal fashion before getting to her feet. "Get some sleep, babe," she told him as she glanced around the room. "After you get home tomorrow, we'll see about getting some of these boxes unpacked, okay?" she added, giving him a stern look.

"I kind of thought I'd keep them like that," Cary answered. "I think the cardboard scheme goes with the walls, don't you?"

His mother rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her face as she opened the door. "Good night."

"Night." Cary watched her go and then reached over to his night table, this time to turn off the light. But it was a long time before he fell asleep.

* * *

Principals, Cary was convinced, got a great amount of pleasure out of torturing new students. Although at a school like Stoneybrook Middle School, he could hardly blame Mr. Taylor for seeming so excited about a new student. He stopped by the principal's office early the next morning, in order to get his schedule and locker assignment. But before that happened, Mr. Taylor ushered him into the office. "Have a seat, son," he said, gesturing to one of the hard, plastic chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

Cary glanced around the office curiously as he sat down, eyeing the framed degrees and diplomas on the wall. It was kind of amusing that right next to his bachelor's degree, Mr. Taylor had a framed picture of himself with his family, most likely at Disney World or somewhere, judging from the baseball hat with Goofy ears that he was wearing. _I bet no one knows he has that in here,_ Cary thought, fighting a grin as he focused his attention back on Mr. Taylor.

Mr. Taylor was speaking as he sat down on his own side of the desk, and Cary had to force himself to pay attention, and to stop wondering how much trouble he'd get into if he photocopied the picture and posted it on the Internet. "So," Mr. Taylor was saying as he flipped through Cary's records. "You're from Illinois, correct?"

"Yes, sir." Cary usually figured that it was better to remain respectful whenever he could. It was less suspicious.

"Transferring from Oak Hill Middle School," Mr. Taylor went on, flipping through a few more pages. "I see that you have excellent grades. Very excellent indeed." He smiled at Cary. Cary gave him a tight smile and a shrug in response. Cary had never particularly liked school itself, but he _did_ like learning. At his old school, he and Mark would spent a good portion of the time sitting in the back of the classroom, being as disruptive as possible without actually getting kicked out, but Cary rarely fell behind as far as grades went. He mostly made B's, which he figured was good enough to please his parents. A's were different … they made people expect too much. Cary was intelligent, but he wasn't really one to overachieve.

"Well, I certainly hope you'll do as well here," Mr. Taylor continued.

"I hope so too," Cary said.

Mr. Taylor flipped a few more pages. "Lots of extracurriculars. I'm also pleased to see that. We offer plenty of sports and activities here as well, you'll be happy to know. Are you planning on joining the baseball team, perhaps?"

Cary coughed, shifting his position. When he was younger, he'd been fairly athletic … he played baseball and such during the season, and in the winter, it was always hockey. But while he was okay at sports, the games bored him to death, and he'd finally decided that the only good thing to come out of moving was that he wouldn't have to keep joining teams out of obligation. But he wasn't about to get into the details now. "Maybe," he answered after a moment. There. That was a nice, noncommittal answer.

"Well." Mr. Taylor closed the file and set it down on his desk, looking up at Cary with a warm smile. "We're certainly pleased to have you here at Stoneybrook Middle, Mr. Retlin."

_Wait until you get to know me._ Cary did his best to smile back. "Thank you, sir."

* * *

He made his way through his first few classes with little or no incident. In just about every class, the teacher went out of his or her way to introduce him, and a lot of stares and curious glances would follow. Cary did his best to remain cool the entire time, meeting everyone else's gazes directly, giving them a quick smirk and a casually friendly, yet indifferent, shrug. He supposed the bravado had worked, because by lunch time he'd been approached a handful of times.

The most notable approach had been made by a guy named Alan Gray, who headed him off just as he was about to enter the cafeteria line. "I'm Alan," he introduced himself with a big grin.

"Cary," he replied, giving Alan a once-over before smirking in return.

"Cary, huh," Alan repeated as he joined Cary on the lunch line. "You named after anyone?"

He'd been named after Cary Grant, his mother's favorite movie star of the "golden" era. But Cary wasn't stupid; he'd never go around _admitting _something like that to anyone. "No, but it was either that, or Stieg," he answered, picking up a tray. "My grandfather's name. They decided to torture my younger brother with _that_ one."

Alan laughed. "Seriously? Man, that kid's gonna have issues," he commented, picking up a tray of his own and reaching out to place one of the wrapped sandwiches on it.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Cary surveyed the food selection, finally picking up a sandwich for himself, simply because it looked less revolting than the hot lunch. "Is it always like this?" he asked, nodding towards the noodle casserole in question.

Alan grimaced. "Worse," he replied, steering Cary further down the line. "You picked a good day to start."

"Looks like it." They finished their way through the lunch line and approached the cafeteria. "Dude, you should come sit with us," Alan offered, nodding towards a table that was filled with rowdy boys. "Ever made a mashed potato sculpture?"

Cary smirked. "Can't say I have."

"No big." Alan led the way towards the table, and cleared his throat. "Guys, this is Cary Retlin," he introduced once he had their attention. "Cary, the guys."

Cary nodded at the entire table in general as he and Alan took seats, earning several grins in response. "So you're the fresh meat, huh?" asked a guy with dark brown hair.

Cary raised an eyebrow. "Or you guys are," he replied, a hint of mischief in his tone.

That got their attention. "Oh yeah?" asked the same guy. He was, Cary noticed, attempting to raise one eyebrow back, but both went up anyway. "Meaning what?"

Cary shrugged. "It means what it means," he replied, leaning back a bit in his seat. The other boys exchanged puzzled yet intrigued glances, and right away, Cary knew he had the advantage back. The trick was to give off a few hints without ever really saying too much. The mysterious act always pulled people in; hook, line, _and_ sinker.

"Well." The guy with the brown hair stuck out his hand. "At any rate, I'm Pete Black," he introduced himself. "Since Alan has the social skills of a monkey, I'll interpret his introductions." Pete gestured down the table, pointing out an athletic looking guy with blonde hair; an Asian guy; and a guy with a quick grin and dirty blonde hair. "That's Logan Bruno, Rick Chow, and Austin Bentley," he went on.

Cary nodded again as he glanced around the table, mentally committing their names to memory. He'd always been able to remember names pretty well. Once he decided he knew who was who, he spoke up, showing off his conversational skills. "Hey."

Austin gave him a grin. "I think we're in math together," he said. "You're from Idaho or something, right?"

Cary shook his head. "Illinois," he corrected, leaning his chair back on two legs. "Near Chicago."

"Ah, Chicago." That time, it was Logan. "My family went up there for Christmas one year," he went on. "So did you fly here or what?"

_Yeah, and boy, are my arms tired._ Cary refrained from repeating the bad joke. It was entirely possible that none of these guys would get quite the kick out of it that he would. "Yup," he responded simply.

"We moved here from Kentucky last year," Logan went on. "Drove the entire way. Man, I tell you, you haven't experienced torture until you've sat in a car for five days straight."

"Well, this flight wasn't too bad," Cary said. "It was only a couple of hours or so. But my God, I remember my last flight to Paris …" He trailed off with a grin as the rest of the guys laughed.

The novelty of Cary's new kid status was already wearing off, he was pleased to see, as Rick spoke up, changing the subject entirely. "So, who's going to the Masquerade?" he asked. His question was met with a round of shrugs.

Cary frowned. "Masquerade?" he repeated.

"The Mischief Night Masquerade," Pete filled him in. "It's next Friday night … the night before Halloween."

Cary raised an eyebrow curiously, but didn't respond.

"It's some kind of tradition," Austin took over. "Mischief Night is supposed to be, basically, prank night. SMS used to hold a dance on that night, to 'discourage' the kids from going out and causing mischief."

"Really," Cary said, more of a statement than a question as an interested grin crossed his face. He let his chair drop back down to all fours.

"Yeah. Didn't your old school do anything like this?" Rick asked curiously.

Cary shook his head. "Nah. A lot of kids aren't really into dances and stuff."

"What are they into?" Austin inquired.

Cary shrugged. "Sex, drugs, violence. That sort of thing," he replied with a straight face.

Alan coughed, and Pete laughed so hard that he had to stop drinking from his milk carton. Cary couldn't repress a smirk.

Austin cleared his throat. _"Anyway._ SMS hasn't had one for years, but this year, I guess it's back on." "So … the objective is to discourage pranking?" Cary asked. "Basically," Logan agreed. _Interesting,_ Cary thought as he glanced around the table. _Definitely interesting._

* * *

After lunch, Cary and Alan had a history class together, and Alan took the opportunity to steer Cary towards the back, taking it upon himself to point out anyone that he thought Cary might have missed noticing. "That's Kristy Thomas," Alan said in a stage whisper, pointing out a petite brunette who was wearing jeans and a backwards baseball cap. "Be careful of her--she's a total snob."

Cary raised his eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. According to her, she's never wrong. About anything. And she's got this club thing--the Baby-sitters Club?"

Cary started to laugh. "The _what?"_

Alan was grinning, too. "BSC," he summarized. "They advertise themselves as baby-sitters and junk. Kristy started the whole thing. Takes it way too seriously for her own good, and she pretty much won't talk to you unless you're either in the club, or you're friendly with someone in it. Like Logan," Alan went on. "He's dating Kristy's best friend, so he's got an in. That's her now." Alan pointed out another brunette who was taking a seat near Kristy. "Mary Anne Spier."

Cary studied both Kristy and Mary Anne with a concealed interest, mulling over Alan's words inside of his head. _Takes it way too seriously for her own good …_ Cary was pretty sure he could think of a few ways to stir things up with Kristy's club. He grinned.

Alan pointed out a few more people. "Over there is Robert Brewster," he said. "And some of the jock crowd. Sheila McGregor, Shawna Riverson, RJ Blaser. Those are the types I'd steer clear of … talking to wallpaper would probably be more interesting."

Cary glanced over the group, unimpressed; they were mostly blonde (one was redheaded) and more likely than not, incredibly superficial. Cary met the eyes of the red-haired girl, and he flashed her a grin, pleased to see that she blushed a little before smiling back. Cary leaned back in his chair, amused. The girl probably had an IQ of about fifteen, but getting some kind of a reaction was always a plus. T

heir teacher walked in then, and Alan had to stop making his 'introductions." Thankfully, this teacher didn't ask him to introduce himself or anything like that, and for the first time that day, Cary felt almost completely at ease. Maybe there was something to this school after all.


End file.
